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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28806525">five denials and a truth</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/fanfoolishness'>fanfoolishness (LoonyLupin)</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/LoonyLupin'>LoonyLupin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Outer Rim [35]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Mandalorian (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, Angst, Family Feels, Fatherhood, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Loss</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:13:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,841</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28806525</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/fanfoolishness, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/LoonyLupin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Din Djarin denies he is a father, and one he doesn't.  Canon-compliant, spoilers through the end of season 2.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Din Djarin &amp; Ahsoka Tano, Din Djarin &amp; Boba Fett, Din Djarin &amp; Cara Dune, Din Djarin &amp; Grogu | Baby Yoda, Din Djarin &amp; Omera, Din Djarin &amp; Peli Motto, The Armorer (The Mandalorian TV) &amp; Din Djarin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Outer Rim [35]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055645</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>189</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Noromo Mando: Mandalorian Genfics Collection</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>five denials and a truth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="">
<p></p><div class=""><p>i.</p><p> </p></div><div class=""><p>The sun fell beneath the crowns of the trees, leaving them awash in blues and golds, and the insects sang their chorus in the growing shadows.  Din Djarin sat at the edge of the fire, watching the child play with the other children.  Wariness hummed in the back of his mind, long years of training deeply entrenched despite the seeming peace of Sorgan.  Still, though, it was hard to remain battle-ready here, as the children laughed and played their silly games.</p></div><div class=""><p>Omera sat on the log beside him, waving a hand to her daughter.  The girl took off eagerly to join the others.  Pinpoint flashes of light sparkled around the children as they played, the evening lightning-beetles taking wing.</p></div><div class=""><p>“The children love your son,” she said, turning back to Din, her eyes aglow in the firelight.  “I’ve never seen a youngling like him, but they’ve truly taken to him.  My daughter’s quite envious of his frog-catching skills.”  She chuckled, voice sweet and warm.</p></div><div class=""><p>“He’s not my son,” said Din in polite, careful tones.  He shifted slightly on the log.</p></div><div class=""><p>Omera tilted her head.  He found her direct eye contact discomfiting, but he did not look away.  “Because he isn’t human?”</p></div><div class=""><p>He shook his head slightly.  “No.  That has nothing to do with it.”</p></div><div class=""><p>“Then what?  I see the way you watch out for him.  You’re watching him now, making sure he isn’t getting into trouble,” she said lightly.  “Every parent does it.”</p></div><div class=""><p>“There are terrible people after him,” said Din, feeling uneasy in a way he couldn’t pin down.  Imps, bounty hunters, who knew what else?  The less said about it, the better.  “I’m just trying to protect him until I can find a safe place for him, that’s all.”</p></div></div><div class="">
  <p>She arched an eyebrow as the child toddled over to them, holding a squirming lightning-beetle in his small hands, its green-gold light pulsing between his fingertips.  “Looks like he has something to show you.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Din bent down, reaching out to take the child’s hands.  “You, uh, you caught this?” he asked gruffly.  “Huh.”  He’d seen the other children trying to do the same and failing, the agile beetles getting the better of them.  Despite himself, he was impressed.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Good for you.  Just don’t  -- no!  Drop it!”  He pulled the squirming beetle out of the child’s mouth and tossed it aside, watching it flash up into the sky.  The child looked at him with big eyes, ears sinking down to his shoulders.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh, they’re perfectly safe to eat,” said Omera, laughing.  “We eat them now and then if things are lean.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh,” said Din.  He felt his mouth form into a smile, a reflexive action beneath the helmet.  “Uh, sorry,” he said to the child.  “Maybe next time.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The child took another step forward, then leaned against Din’s leg, small arms curling around his shin.  Then he was off again, toddling back to the children and the waiting lightning-beetles.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“If you aren’t his father,” asked Omera, “what’s stopping you?”  She gazed at him, her face kind, her eyes questioning.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’m not what he needs,” Din said.  He turned away from her, staring off into the forest, where the bandits waited.  “That’s all.”</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <hr/>
</div><div class="">
  <p> </p>
  <p>ii.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The Armorer watched Din Djarin carefully, grateful that another member of the Tribe had survived.  Of course, he and his actions were the reason so many had fallen, but the Creed was unflinchingly clear.  Death in the service of protecting another Mandalorian or a foundling was the noblest end to a warrior’s life.  The price had been paid, and paid again, and she bore him no anger for it.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She asked to see the child, to see the one whose protection had merited the fragmentation and destruction of the Tribe.  The creature stared up at her, clearly tired and frail, but its eyes held a spirit she understood.  This one had seen suffering.  It was always written in the eyes of those who did not hide their faces.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She saw, too, the way Djarin angled himself toward the child.  She had heard of how he had protected it, blaster, body and beskar, against the storm that drove him from the planet.  And she remembered the tale of the enemy that had helped him defeat the mudhorn.  She began to understand.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She explained to Djarin what he must do, what the Creed demanded.  No matter that the child was linked to the Jedi, nor that Djarin knew not where to find them.  He was a resourceful man.  She had faith that he would fulfill the Creed.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The others pressed him to leave, their urgency clear.  The Imperials were coming, as they had come upon them before in the night, and she understood their fear.  They knew not the Way of the Mandalore, the honor of a warrior’s death.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Djarin dissented.  “I’m staying.  I need to help her, and I need to heal.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>His desire to assist was welcome, but she knew that this was not his path.  His path was clear. It lay in the child’s wide eyes, in his small hands, in the way Djarin spoke of the foundling with a measured distance she knew he did not keep.  The truth could not be hidden.  A Mandalorian could fool an outsider, but she was the Armorer, and the depth of his feelings toward the child was laid bare in voice and stance.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You must go,” she said firmly.  “A foundling is in your care.  By Creed, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind, you are as its father.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em>You already are,</em> she wished to say, but she did not.  He was not ready.  Not yet.  Denial showed plain in the set of his shoulders.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“This is the Way,” she said instead, voice brisk.  “You have earned your Signet.”  Her hands were swift and precise upon his pauldron, affixing the gleaming mudhorn to its rightful place.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>There it was, the emotion she knew lay deep within him.  “Thank you,” he said, and she saw the warrior’s heart within him gentled, humbled, made vulnerable.  “I will wear it with honor.”  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>There were certain truths she had long known.  The best warriors did not harden their hearts.  Too hard, and they found their deaths too quickly, the potential glory of their sacrifice fading into a meaningless waste.  Yet those that succumbed to the pain of the world could be too soft, losing the will to fight and turning to the follies of pacifism.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The finest warriors, the truest, walked wounded through the world.  It was their battles that burned brightest in the minds of their people, their struggles that most honored the Way of the Mandalore.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She watched Djarin and the child leave with the others, and she waited, her hammer at the ready.  She would protect the beskar and buy time for those of her Tribe to escape.  She knew she would not fall this day.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Beneath her helmet, she smiled.  For she believed Clan Mudhorn would earn their place in legend.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <hr/>
</div><div class="">
  <p> </p>
  <p>iii.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Din returned to Peli Motto’s shop, laden with supplies from the market.  Ammunition, food and water for himself and the kid, a few more packs of bacta patches.  Wouldn’t do to head out into the deep desert unprepared, and he wasn’t sure this mining town Peli was talking about really still existed.  He unloaded the supplies onto the ramp into the Crest, and turned to look for the kid.  <em>He’s fine,</em> he reminded himself, but he still hated how hard it was to leave the kid sometimes, how he always felt like something was missing when the kid wasn’t in his sight.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>As expected, Peli was in her office, the kid in her lap.  She was having an animated discussion with him, judging by the way his ears quivered.  As Din drew near he picked up some of their conversation.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“So there I was, fighting an infestation of womp rats the size of banthas, and this no-good nerfherder shows up wanting to know why his ship’s not ready.  I tried telling him the droids were overrun and that I’d already busted one blaster trying to shoot the damn things, and he had the <em>nerve</em> to -- Mando!  Back from the market, huh?” Peli asked, looking up at him.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The kid let out an excited squeal and reached towards him.  Reluctantly, Peli lifted him up, and Din took him into his arms.  The kid settled down in the crook of his elbow like he’d been there all his life, and Din finally relaxed.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Not the best selection I’ve ever seen, but I got what we needed,” he said.  “Thanks for watching the kid.  He’s gotten me into trouble with more than one vendor.  Sticky fingers.”  And having the ability to move things with his mind, while impressive, wasn’t exactly a good recipe when combined with a youngling who was hungry all the time.  Din tilted his helmet down to look at the kid, his mouth tugging invisibly into a grin beneath the beskar.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“This angel?” Peli scoffed.  “I don’t believe it.”  Din simply looked at her, and she relented, “Okay, okay, he ate half my lunch when I wasn’t looking, and tried to eat a sand roach when I <em>was</em>.  I get your point.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I told you to be good for Peli,” scolded Din.  The kid let out a small, sad burble, and he sighed.  “I know, I know.  You didn’t mean it.”  He reached up, fingers cuffing gently against the kid’s cheek.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You guys should do more business on Tatooine,” said Peli, leaning back in her chair and taking a long drink of caf.  “Always a pleasure.  It warms my sandblasted heart, seeing you two.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Din nearly choked.  “Excuse me?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You know what I mean!” she said, waving her hands.  “Mos Eisley’s got some pretty nasty dealings in the back alleys.  Orphaned younglings, drunks, slavers looking for easy marks…   It’s just nice to see a dad actually taking care of his kid for once.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Din was still.  The kid grabbed his thumb with one small hand, holding it tight, and reflexively he curled his hand closer to the little one.  He didn’t speak.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peli raised her brows, looking concerned.  “Did I say something wrong?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I…”  He swallowed.  “I’m not his father.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Well, I don’t know what exactly you look like under that armor, but no shit, Mando,” she said.  “But dads aren’t just a blood thing.  I thought -- I mean, the way you take care of him, and all.  You’d do anything for this kid, or I don’t know a damn thing.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I would,” he said slowly.  “Do anything for him.”  The kid brushed his hand against his cuirass, his claws making tiny <em>ting</em> noises against the beskar.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“But you’re not his dad.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>If you aren’t his father, what’s stopping you?</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>You are as its father.</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“He’s a foundling,” said Din, and he fought to keep his voice steady.  “I would die for him.  This is the Way.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peli held out her hands skeptically, face shifting into clear confusion.  “And again, you’re <em>not</em> his dad?  I’m not getting the distinction here.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He looked down at the kid, whose ears quivered with curiosity, his mouth slightly open as if asking a question.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>Red robes, blaster fire, the smell of smoke, the sound of screams --</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>Until it is reunited with its own kind --</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It’s complicated,” he said, turning away from her.  “Thanks again for watching him.  We’d better get a move on before it starts getting dark.”  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He headed back out toward the ship and the speeder, her indignant voice following him.  “It’s <em>noon</em>, but whatever you say, Mando!”</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <hr/>
</div><div class="">
  <p> </p>
  <p>iv.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Mist lay heavy in the secluded forest, muffling the sounds of the grazing beasts in the distance, the township far away.  Din stared out at the falling darkness, his stomach twisting.  It was nearly time.  Time to fulfill his quest, to deliver the child.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Time to say goodbye to Grogu.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>His feet felt heavy, so heavy, though the distance to the little sleeping area from the hold was only a few steps away.  He stood in the doorway, watching the child sleep in the small hammock.  He’d picked up the cloth in a small market on a forgotten world.  He remembered asking the shopkeeper if it was soft enough for a youngling, remembered taking his glove off to make sure the fabric wasn’t itchy.  He remembered the kid -- Grogu -- cooing to himself that first night in the hammock, remembered how well the kid had slept.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He remembered how <em>he’d</em> laid awake half the night, missing the kid curled up on his chest.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Din raised his hands.  They trembled.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>This is what I came to do.  This is for</em>
    <strong>
      <em> him.</em>
    </strong>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Wake up, buddy,” he said, voice breaking.  “It’s time to say goodbye.”  He reached a hand into the hammock, brushing against Grogu’s chest.  The kid made a small, sleepy sigh, a sigh he’d heard dozens, hundreds of times now, a sigh that had become as familiar and homey as the engine’s hum.  He lifted him carefully out of the hammock, but Grogu just yawned, smacking his lips, and closed his eyes again.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Din sat down, leaning against the wall with Grogu on his knee.  He looked at him.  Really<em> looked</em>, though his vision blurred.  <em>I have… I have to remember.    </em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He drank in the sight of those long, delicate ears, soft with thin white fuzz on the edges, the inner skin shell-pink rimmed with mossy green.  He memorized the curious ridges and bumps on his forehead, between his eyes, remembering how they crinkled when the kid was happy and flattened when the kid was being obstinate.  He looked at the mouth that had eaten a horrifying number of frogs and spiders, and nearly laughed despite himself.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Grogu’s hand twitched, curling over Din’s fingertip.  Din shifted his thumb to cover the back of his small hand, and the kid blinked sleepy eyes at him.  Those eyes, so wide, so curious, so expressive.  He would never forget them.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You’re gonna love being a Jedi,” Din whispered.  “You’ll learn how to use your powers.  You’ll get even stronger.  You’ll see.” <em> You won’t need me.</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Grogu’s weight on his knee was so light.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Funny, then, that Din felt so crushed.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He bowed over the kid, arms curling around his small body.  Grogu leaned into him, and Din held him, and he told himself that it was time.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He was never sure, looking back, how he piloted the ship safely back to the town and landed it without a hitch.  He only remembered walking down the ramp, seeing the Jedi Ahsoka waiting for them, and going cold, cold, cold.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>They regarded each other for a moment.  The Jedi’s eyes were sad and distant.  She gazed down at Grogu, nestled in Din’s arms.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You’re like a father to him,” she said finally.  “I cannot train him.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>His legs felt fuzzy and weak.  He straightened up, forcing himself to stand firm.  He had to try again, for the kid’s sake.  “You made me a promise, and I held up my end,” he accused.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The Jedi spoke.  Part of him held onto her words, kept them safe, directions to a planet, another option to find more Jedi.  He could do this.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The other part of him was dizzy, punchdrunk, even as he held the kid safely in his arms.  <em>You’re like a father to him</em> echoed, and somehow the words struck deeper than they ever had before.  He ached with them, ached for them to be real -- weren’t Jedi supposed to be noble?  Weren’t they supposed to tell the <em>truth</em>?</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But he knew he couldn’t be that lucky.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He thanked her politely for the information, and set a course for Tython.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <hr/>
</div><div class="">
  <p> </p>
  <p>v.     </p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“We’re coming up on Nevarro,” came Fett’s voice in his ear, and Din jerked awake.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It took him a moment to get his bearings.  This wasn’t the<em> Crest. </em> This was <em>Slave I. </em> This was Boba Fett.  Fennec Shand was down below.  And Grogu was… gone.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>His head reeled. <em>Gone.  </em>Not safe in the arms of a Jedi, no future secured and sheltered.  He’d been stolen, been <em>lost</em>.  Under his watch.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You still asleep?” Fett asked, glancing back.  His helmet rested beside him, half-cleaned of its scorch marks and scars.  Fett had been busy while he was sleeping.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“No,” said Din, trying to clear his head.  He lapsed into silence.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It’s a fair plan,” said Fett.  “I hope it works.  For the sake of the child.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You didn’t have to --” Din started.  They’d been through this already, though, and he knew it would be insulting to keep up his protests.  “I’m… grateful for the help.  Thank you.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Fett shrugged. “We tracked you for a while, you know.  Before Tython.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Din stared straight ahead.  He didn’t care about that.  But he realized in the waiting quiet that Fett expected an answer.  “I didn’t know.”  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>There; the man should take it as a compliment.  Din knew he wasn’t easy to track.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I saw how you were with the child.”  Fett’s scarred face was thoughtful.  There was something complicated there behind the older man’s eyes, but Din couldn’t read it, unsettled and numb as he was.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I was to return him to the Jedi,” Din forced out.  “I failed him.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You took care of him,” Fett pointed out.  “I saw it.  That’s not nothing.”  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“He was a foundling,” he said mechanically.  “Any Mandalorian would have done the same.  The Creed demands --”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Fett sighed.  “You can keep your Creed.”  The words still sounded so wrong -- to view the Creed as a myth, it was sacrilege.  Still, though, he’d seen the chain code, and he knew Fett’s claim was valid.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Din watched the other man cautiously, but was taken aback by the next words Fett spoke.  “You were a father to him.  That much was clear.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Din chuckled, a brittle, awful sound.  It hurt his throat.  “People keep telling me that.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Are they wrong?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He thought of Grogu taken, held captive by droids’ arms harsh and cold.  He thought of him in a cell, thought of tests and needles and experiments, thought of the little youngling toddling after him and laughing sweetly about cookies.  He thought of standing there helplessly on the rocky slopes of Tython, watching the world end.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He was grateful, not for the first time, for the helmet shielding his face.  “Does it matter?” he gritted, and Nevarro loomed before them.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <hr/>
</div><div class="">
  <p> </p>
  <p>vi.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Cara Dune caught up to him, about six months later.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He’d been half-expecting her for some time.  Knew that rumors of his doings would reach certain ears.  Knew that she’d put two and two together.  Even if he no longer wore beskar, he knew the patterns would be noticed.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She found him in a scuzzy bar on an ocean moon, where the damp seeped into everything and the cold never faded.  She sat beside him, tossing a few credits onto the bar, and was rewarded with a sea-brewed ale.  She drank about half before she finally turned to face him.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hey, Mando.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He didn’t look at her.  Didn’t want to see the pity in her face.  He could hear it well enough in her voice.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I knew I’d see you again,” he said quietly.  “Galaxy’s never as big as it seems.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“No,” she said.  “I guess it isn’t.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>In the silence, water dripped, dripped, dripped behind the bar, a constant rhythm.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I know it was you,” she said presently.  “The Imperial bases on Corux and Raethe.  Two cruisers downed, the troops dead long before the ships crashed.  Imps dead in the streets of a dozen backwaters.  And a lot of high-ranking officers found in pieces.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“A lot of people hate the Empire,” he said.  He took a drink of his ale.  He hated the taste, and hated the burn more.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Not a lot of people hate them like you do.”  Lightning-fast, she twitched aside the cloak hanging over his hip, revealing the Darksaber hanging like an anchor at his side.  He ignored her, covering it again with his cloak.  “Let’s just say you have a signature style these days.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Din glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.  She looked different, hair a little shorter, upgraded armor, a new insignia on her shoulder.  And sympathy etched in every line of her face.  He looked away, shaken.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“So what?” he asked.  “Don’t tell me the New Republic has a problem with fewer Imps running around.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“They don’t.  They’d probably give you a medal, if they knew who was behind it,” said Cara.  She finished her drink.  “<em>I</em> have a problem with it.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He nearly snorted into his foul ale.  “Really.  You’re worried about the Imps.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’m worried about <em>you</em>, Din Djarin.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He froze.  She’d never used his name before.  Slowly, he turned to stare at her, fully aware that his naked face was on display.  “Stop.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Cara flushed.  “I was on the ground at that Maelstrom-class cruiser.  I saw what you did to them.  It wasn’t…”  Her mouth twisted.  “Killing Imps doesn’t bother me.  You know that.  But that was… brutal.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Again,” he said defensively, “you’re worried about <em>them</em>?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“About what it’s doing to <em>you</em>,” she said, her voice flat.  “Mandalorians… I thought you were known for <em>noble</em> kills --”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’m not a Mandalorian,” he spat.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She pounded a fist into the table, a sharp crack that left a mark on the flimsy surface.  “You’re <em>torturing</em> yourself about letting him go.  This isn’t you, Mando.  And I think a part of you knows it.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The weight of the last several months loomed.  It pressed.  It shattered, a shield failing, a dam breaking.  He saw the Darksaber flaring, scorching, searing, amputating, saw his bare hands on the hilt, saw the bodies piled.  He remembered enjoying it in a way that felt sick, felt <em>dirty</em>, an insult to the Way of the Mandalore, but he’d already burned that bridge, hadn’t he?  Already bared his face to the child, to the Jedi, to all of them; already desecrated his beskar; already severed his clan of two into one, alone --</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I know,” he said hoarsely, ashamed.  “I <em>know</em> it’s wrong.  I -- I broke the Creed --”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She reached up slowly, rested her hand on his shoulder.  She waited, her eyes soft.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He bowed his head, shaking.  “And I gave him up,” he whispered, burying his damp face in his hands.  “I lost my son.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>My son.</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The truth he’d hid from so long flared white-hot, burning through him.  Denial had done nothing for him; all it had done was rob him of the chance to tell Grogu how much he loved him before it was too late.  It hadn’t saved him from this agony at all.  The pain roared, a howling void opening up within him, a darkness he could never hope to see through.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I was his father,” he choked.  “What am I now?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Cara’s hand was firm on his shoulder, steady, kind; but she had no answers for him.  In the end, the only sounds were his broken breathing and the drip, drip, drip behind the bar.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Written for fake-starwars-fan on tumblr, who suggested the story. We were talking about how other characters have so often pointed out that Din Djarin is a father to Grogu, but he never states it himself. ;_;</p></blockquote></div></div>
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